


Annie 'Type A' Edison

by sacchariferoussapphic



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/F, Season 4 Spoilers, what if Britta was sleeping with Annie too?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacchariferoussapphic/pseuds/sacchariferoussapphic
Summary: In which Annie has a praise kink and Britta isn’t as sneaky as she thinks she is.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	1. Prologue

“We need to go over the Convention schedule again!” Abed’s voice sounds muffled through the door. You’ve been doing this dance around each other for too long, you think. 

“Just a minute!” Troy yells back before shoving you towards the window. Honestly, it’s a relief to leave before it gets awkward. 

“Troy! It’s a week away and we need to revise our whole strategy!” Troy blows you a kiss and you roll your eyes and vault over to the balcony where you pull on your pants before stooping to Annie’s window. 

“Curling iron,” she says as she hands it to you. She sounds irritated, or maybe tired. You frown, but you can’t spend too much time on it now. You didn’t think she’d be that upset – it was just sex, right? 

“Thanks,” you puff, out of breath. 

* * *

So Britta didn’t knock on your window last night, big whoop. Life isn’t always an ‘80s movie romance. It’s not like you stayed up until four and did your hair and makeup and laid out a hot outfit – or at least picked out matching underwear. You knew this would happen sooner or later. Goodie Two Shoes Annie Edison still wasn’t good enough for Britta freakin’ Perry. 

You sigh and sink into your bed. You hear the familiar knock on the door and listen as Abed answers it. 

“I know you two have been having sex. I’ve known for weeks.” 

“WHAT?!” Britta screeches as much as she can while winded. You rush to your bedroom door and open it, shock all over your face. You know Abed is perceptive but god damn, how could he have known? Had he heard all this time? You’re about to protest when you see Troy in the hall and your words stopper your throat. Of course, it isn’t about you. 

Abed smiles as he takes the donuts to the kitchen. His eyes meet yours and linger just a little too long. 

Okay, maybe it _is_ about you. 


	2. Chapter 2

_3 months ago..._

There’s a knock on your window and you automatically reach for the pistol in your nightstand drawer. You cock it with practiced ease before pulling the curtain back. Britta’s shocked eyes dart from yours to the gun and back as she puts her hands above her head. 

“Woah, woah. Where did you even get that?!” her shrill whisper is distorted through the glass. You flip the safety back on and tuck the gun into the waistband at the small of your back before unlocking the window and raising the sash. 

“What’s going on, Britta? Are you okay?” You can’t imagine why she’s at your window in the middle of the night. She had left hours ago after watching Inspector Spacetime with Troy and Abed. 

“I was better before you almost killed me. Jeez.” Britta clambers in through the window and straightens her faux leather jacket. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You roll your eyes and lock the window. You take a cursory glance just to be sure the coast is clear before you pull the curtain again. “Why are you here?” 

Britta’s initial shock rolls off her and she melts into a sheepish version of herself. “I just thought we could have some girl talk?” 

“At-” you glance at the clock, “three in the morning?” You cross your arms and put your weight on one hip as you wait for the real answer. 

“Okay, fine,” Britta huffs and sinks to the floor. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell Abed.” She raises her eyebrows and pouts; you wonder if this is how everyone else perceives you sometimes. But as you stand there looking down at Britta’s expression, you can see why it works. 

“Deal.” You say, matter-of-fact. Britta’s face relaxes but she looks skeptical. 

“Huh, thought you’d fight that a bit more.” Then again, you’d just pulled a gun on her so maybe you were challenging her idea of you. “After I left, I snuck back in so I could,” she lowers her voice and looks at the door, “fool around with Troy.” 

“I’m not a child, Britta; you can say ‘have sex.’” You huff, irritated. 

“I would, but we didn’t really.” 

“Nice try, Britta, but I’m an adult too! I lived above Dildopolis for fuck’s sake-” 

Maybe it’s the presence of the gun, or the first time Britta hears you say ‘fuck’, but the atmosphere changes as she regards you from her spot beneath the window. 

“We didn’t, Annie.” Britta sighs and runs a hand through her hair. 

“Oh,” you say, and your muscles lose some tension. You aren’t sure why you’re relieved. “Well, what happened?” 

“You know, first time stuff.” Britta shrugs. Your eyes widen and you can see realization dawn on Britta’s face. “Not that it’s my first time! Or Troy’s! Just first – together. You know?” 

“There’s no shame in being a virgin, Britta, we were all there once.” You try to sound understanding but it comes out patronizing. Britta rolls her eyes, pauses, and gives you a quizzical look. 

“You’re not–? Never mind. It’s just never good the first time, you know? Like you just don’t know how the other person works yet.” You think of your first boyfriend crying on the floor of the closet. You definitely know. 

“Totally.” You both sit in awkward silence for a moment, grimacing at your respective memories. You shake your head to clear it. “So you’re here... why?” 

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Britta sighs, dramatic and irritated. You have to admit that you kind of like seeing her this way. Her disheveled curls and smudged eyeliner. She looks messy and frustrated and – oh. “Annie? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Hmm?” 

* * *

Annie isn’t exactly towering over you, but she gazes down at you through hooded eyes. She’s biting her bottom lip and you know there’s a gun in the waistband of her pink pajama bottoms, and her voice is still rusty from sleep. This fluttering feeling in your stomach is because you’re frustrated that Troy couldn’t get you off; it’s not that you’re attracted to Annie, right? It’s just... residual. 

“Annie?” 

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Annie asks, and it sounds like a challenge, a tone that Annie reserves for Jeff. You’re not sure if her question is in regard to what you asked, or the situation with Troy. You know things will get better with Troy with time and communication, but that doesn’t seem to be the answer Annie is fishing for just now. 

“Annie, do you remember the Valentine’s Day dance?” you ask. You’re thinking about the way she leaned into you – she was moments away from kissing you then. 

“With not-a-lesbian Paige?” Annie laughs, her eyebrows furrowing. “Britta, are you trying to tell me you’re-” now it was Annie’s turn to look at the door and whisper, “gay? Is that why it didn’t go well with Troy?” Your gut instinct is to defend yourself but something about Annie’s expression stops you. 

_All I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t know if it’s the gun or you swearing or the way you just looked at me but I want to kiss you right now._ That probably isn’t the best thing to say. Although Annie looks at you like- 

“Oh god, I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Annie seems frozen. “Shit, shit shit shit, I should go. I’m sorry. I’ll-” but as soon as you stand and your hands find the windowsill, you feel Annie’s hand pulling on your arm. 

“Annie-” a single word is insufficient but your breath catches as you turn towards her. You stumble as she pushes you back into the wall. You’re breathing the same air but the only part of her touching you is her hand pinning your arm against your body. “Annie, I-” 

“You want me to kiss you? Is that it?” she asks. You remember the persona she donned for the second game of paintball, and you wonder if that’s who Annie is when no one else is projecting an ideal onto her. I mean she keeps a gun in her nightstand for fuck’s sake. You meet her eyes but she breaks eye contact to glance at your lips. There aren’t words for this situation, you think. You didn’t think Annie would be the sort who would want to be in control but – actually, that made sense, she was _so_ Type A – and this psych evaluation could _certainly_ wait for another time because Annie fucking Edison is waiting for your consent before she kisses you. 

“Yes,” it’s kind of embarrassing how that came out as a squeak, but your embarrassment is soon forgotten as Annie closes her eyes and leans in to kiss you. You didn’t realize anyone could be so soft but so insistent at the same time. You like making out with Troy, but he’s hard lines and stubble and Annie buffets into you like waves. 

You gasp as her hip bones dig into you. She has a handful of your hair and your head follows it back against the wall. Her teeth are against your neck and you thank the gods that her hips anchor you in place because you feel like falling. Your hands grasp at her back and come across something cold and metal and – fuck, you forgot about the gun. 

“Annie! Annie, stop,” you gasp, hands pushing at her shoulders. She immediately pulls away, chest heaving. 

“What? Are you okay?” Annie asks. Her lips are swollen. Focus, Britta. 

“Yeah, uh, you still have a – a gun in your pants.” Annie looks at you blankly before she starts laughing. Fine, in retrospect, that did sound like a euphemism. Except it wasn’t, and not-so-innocent Annie Edison has a gun in the waistband of her pink pajama pants. Okay, so the cognitive dissonance is a bit funny. Mostly startling, but funny. You grin and start laughing along with her. She’s irresistible. 

“If I put it away, can I go back to kissing you?” God, did she pick this shit up from Jeff? Never mind, she was way better at this than Jeff, and you’d slept with him for months. Not that you were thinking of sleeping with Annie for months, but – she’s waiting on an answer again. You should be more nonchalant about this; nobody likes Needy Britta. You give a noncommittal shrug and instantly regret it as Annie deflates. You reach for her before you give yourself permission to do so. Annie, wide-eyed, looks from your hand on her forearm to your face. 

“Don’t stop.” Maybe Needy Britta was just the response to whatever version of Annie this was. Abed would call this a timeline, you think. Wait, since when did you think about Abed before kissing Annie? Since when did you kiss Annie?! Your thoughts stop as Annie pushes you backwards and your knees buckle before you tumble onto her bed. You hear her nightstand drawer opening and the gun clatter into it. The drawer whispers closed again and Annie’s weight settles on either side of your hips as she straddles you. 

“Take your jacket off,” she demands from her place above you. You do as she asks, throwing it off the bed. You situate yourself on the bunched-up duvet, propped up on your elbows for a moment before you reach for her hips. You’re not sure why this is as intoxicating as it is, but you feel anchored and out of control at once. Then Annie kisses you again, the force of it pushing your back into her mattress. 

You feel like you’re drowning in her, and it isn’t unpleasant. Her hands find yours against her hips, and she envelops your wrists in her fingers before she pushes your hands off of her. Before you know it, your hands are pinned on either side of your head. Surrender comes in all forms. Her lips leave yours in favor of kissing your neck again. The way her weight shifts makes her hands bite into your wrists and you gasp and your hips buck up into her. 

Annie freezes for a moment, and you think maybe you’ve popped whatever this magical bubble is. Now would be the time to apologize and leave, you think. But then Annie’s teeth are grazing your collarbone and her thigh presses between yours and you think that no boy you’ve ever been with has known what you want before you do, but Annie does. 

“Britta, you’re going to have to be quiet if you don’t want Abed to know,” Annie murmurs in your ear. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your cheeks. “Or Troy,” she adds, pulling away. 

“We’re not exclusive. I just don’t want Abed to feel threatened.” That much was true. If anything at this point, you and Troy were on your way to being friends with benefits. Okay, maybe with a slight crush on the side. But when he touched you, it didn’t feel anything like this. Annie hums against your throat and you reflexively push up against her thigh. 

“What do you want, Britta?” Annie asks as she kisses down your chest. She hasn’t even moved your shirt, but your mind is foggy. “You’re going to have to tell me,” Annie says, moving her thigh far enough away that you can’t reach it. 

“Annie, please.” The power dynamic is fucked, but this all sort of blindsided you. You’d never beg a man for anything, even in bed, but it was different with Annie. It was kind of empowering, even though you feel powerless at the moment. 

“Please what, Britta? You’re going to have to learn to communicate if you want to have better sex.” Transparency, much. 

“Is that what we’re doing?” The words squeak out of you. Annie merely raises an eyebrow. 

“Fine. Take my shirt off.” Annie doesn’t move. “Please,” you add. 

“No need to be bratty about it,” Annie says and smirks. She releases your wrists and before you can protest her statement, she’s pulling your shirt up over your ribs. Your movements are awkward, but you lean up to help her. Her breath hitches as you brush against her. Once your shirt is off you lean back on the bed and she follows you, kissing you soundly. The worn cotton of her pajama top scratches against your bare chest and you gasp. Your hands go to her hips and she immobilizes them above your head again. 

“Annie,” you whine as she moves to kiss your neck again. 

“Ask.” There’s that demanding tone again. There’s something about it that sends a thrill through you. 

“Can I touch you?” you ask, afraid of her response for a moment. 

“If you’re good,” she replies. Seriously, where did she learn this? But then she’s kissing down your sternum and you don’t care where she learned anything. “For now, hold the headboard, and be quiet. Unless, of course, you want me to stop.” A flicker of the Annie you’re used to surfaces, caring and demure. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“God, no.” You shake your head and she smiles. 

“Good. I don’t want to stop touching you.” Her voice melts over you; you’ve never wanted anyone to touch you this badly. It appears that Annie knows this, and as soon as you grip the headboard, she dives back into you. It feels as if her hands and lips are everywhere on your chest at once. When she isn’t touching you directly, you’re so sensitive that the air carries the ghost of her touch; your skin is frozen and on fire at once. You think you manage to say something incoherent and she kisses down your stomach. Her tongue traces the waistband of your jeans and – why did you decide to wear jeans?! 

“Britta, what did I say about being quiet?” she’s leaning against your chest now, and if you thought her pajama shirt was rough before, now it’s unbearable. 

“Please take your shirt off,” you don’t try to disguise the begging. 

“Do it for me,” Annie says. She leans back and she seems so far away. Your arms feel like static, but you lean up and tug the cotton fabric up her torso. You made fun of her for sticking her chest out for attention once, but now that you’re the recipient, you take back every negative thought. You toss her shirt to the side and you want to touch her, but you remember the last time. 

“Can I touch you?” your voice sounds so small. She hums as she runs her hands through your hair. “I kept my hands where you asked,” you add, trying to persuade her. 

“I suppose you’ve been a good girl.” Who knew Annie had a praise kink? Again, the Type A personality should’ve been a clue, but – wait, she just said you could touch her. Eager, your hands grip her thighs and slide up to cup her ass beneath her loose pajama shorts. You kiss whatever part of her chest you can reach. Before you can register what’s happening, your back is slammed into the mattress and Annie’s hands are holding your shoulders. “I didn’t say where,” she scolds. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” you think you’ve crossed a line, somehow, but Annie kisses you and you gasp into it. She pulls your bottom lip between her teeth and palms your breasts. 

“Keep one hand on the headboard, and with the other, you can touch me anywhere _above_ my shoulders. Understood?” You nod, gripping the cold metal of the headboard. You haul Annie back into you, your hand cradling her jaw. The atmosphere changes and you realize that perhaps that gesture was too emotionally intimate for the mood, but Annie seems to shake herself out of it and she fervently returns your kiss. 

Your hand tangles in her hair as she kisses back down your neck and chest. You can feel her breasts against your stomach; she’s so warm against you. She rakes her nails above the waistband of your jeans and you gasp and curl into her. She works the button of your jeans more deftly than you could do one-handed. 

“Britta,” she breaths out your name against your hair. “I need to you tell me if this is alright, or if you’d like me to stop.” You can’t do more than pant at this point. Her hand cups your hip, her fingers kneading the skin there. 

“Please don’t stop,” you say into her mouth as you pull her into a kiss. “I need you.” You didn’t mean to say it, but your brain is foggy and you’ve been worked up for hours now without any sort of release and you’re becoming more animalistic than you’d like to be around Annie. Annie’s gaze softens, but her tone doesn’t. 

“You can touch me with both hands,” she offers. “But above my waist. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you breathe out, eager to drag her closer to you. You drag your nails down her back and she hisses through her teeth but doesn’t tell you to stop. Her lips press into yours before she pulls away. You’re about to protest before you feel her yank your jeans down your hips. You ease off the bed to help her get them off of you. You hadn’t bothered putting underwear back on after leaving Troy’s. She stares at you for a moment. Your chest heaves. You can see a bruise forming against your porcelain skin – it occurs to you that it’s from Annie’s teeth. For a moment, she looks as if she’s going to say something, but then thinks better of it as she sinks back into you. 

Her fingers flutter against your hip as she eases back into your side and it occurs to you that for the first time, she’s nervous. 

“Am I allowed to touch your hands?” you ask. She nods. You guide her hand down the outside of your thigh, and then back up the inside of your leg. Her eyes track the movement and you kiss her jaw to get her attention. “Annie, kiss me.” It comes out as a question, but Annie acquiesces. You wrap an arm around her and pull her heaving chest against yours. Were all girls this soft? God. You try to create some distance between you because she’s right, you’re going to have to find your words. “I want two of your fingers inside of me,” you say while guiding her. 

“Ask nicely.” You never thought you’d find her power trip so hot. 

“Please, Annie.” Her fingers enter you the second her name crosses your lips. You gasp into her, letting go of her hand in favor of pulling her into a kiss that you hope muffles the noises you can’t help making. Annie’s momentary hesitation evaporates, and she curls her fingers inside of you. An unholy sound leaves your mouth and she freezes. 

“Abed doesn’t know I’m here. Worst case scenario he thinks you’re having a wet dream,” you whisper, trying to be helpful. Annie rolls her eyes. 

“Thanks, Britta. That’s helpful.” You feel guilty for a moment but then she curls her fingers again and you bite down on the closest thing to your mouth, which happens to be her upper arm. She hisses and when you look up she’s clenching her jaw, but she doesn’t scold you. You try to soothe the skin with your tongue but you’re preoccupied with her fingers. 

You turn so the two of you are face to face, your thigh draped over her hip. With increased access, her palm rubs against you with every thrust of her fingers. It isn’t quite enough and you maneuver so you can touch yourself while she’s inside of you. Your hands awkwardly bump together and it makes your wrist ache but endorphins are drowning the pain. 

“Fuck, Annie,” you gasp into her skin. 

“That’s right, Britta,” Annie’s tone is harsh. “I’m fucking you. Those are my fingers inside of you. I hope you remember this the next time a guy can’t get you off.” She puts a third finger inside of you and that’s all it takes for you to unravel against her. She doesn’t stop thrusting in and out of you, even when you stop touching yourself. The repetitive impact of her palm brings you to the edge again and you gasp against her as your body shudders with the shocks of your orgasm. Her fingers stay buried deep inside you, curling towards your belly. A third orgasm hits you and you try to muffle the sound that comes unbidden from your throat against her arm. Your fingers death-grip her forearm and finally, finally she relents. 

The after-shocks rattle through you as you come back to yourself. Annie withdraws from you as the fog clears. 

“Holy fuck, Annie,” you exhale. She smiles demurely as she does when praised. You feel boneless and exhausted and you want to be closer to her again. You reach for her and pull her into you. She collapses with her head on your chest and sighs. Her arm must hurt from leaning on it for so long. “Here,” you tug on her arm. “Switch sides.” She looks at you quizzically, but then slides over you, arm across your stomach. You rub your fingers down her arm, kneading the twitching muscle. 

Annie’s breathing evens out after a few minutes and you realize she fell asleep. You can’t stay here – Troy will have questions. _Abed_ will have questions. You’re going to have to leave out the fire escape again. You sigh. It’d be so tempting to doze off here, just for a while. 

You extract yourself from Annie with some difficulty. She grumbles, rolls over, and curls into herself. You brush her hair back from her face and then scold yourself. You collect your clothes and get dressed again. Before you head for the window, you glance back at Annie. She turned over again to hug the pillow that was previously underneath you. You pull the comforter over her before departing. 

“Just call me Frank,” you mutter as you close the window behind you. Although you aren’t sure who’s who in the _Annie Get Your Gun_ analogy, given the circumstances. 

* * *

Annie wears a sweater the next day. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, but she keeps fussing with her sleeves. At some point she absentmindedly shoves up her sleeves as she sinks into her studying. Britta looks at her across the table and fixates on a purple mark on her arm. Several purple marks in a row, actually and – oh, god. 

Britta, queen of subtlety, does what she does best – draws the group’s attention with an awkward feminist monologue. Annie looks up at her until she notices Britta staring pointedly at the bruises on her arm. Annie blushes and jerks her sleeve down before burying her nose back in her textbook. 


End file.
